So she Came Back by Edna St. Vincent Millay

So she came back into his house again

And watched beside his bed until he died, / Loving him not at all. The winter rain

Splashed in the painted butter-tub outside, / Where once her red geraniums had stood, / Where still their rotted stalks were to be seen;

The thin log snapped; and she went out for wood, / Bareheaded, running the few steps between

The house and shed; there, from the sodden eaves

Blown back and forth on ragged ends of twine, / Saw the dejected creeping-jinny vine, / (And one, big-aproned, blithe, with stiff blue sleeves

Rolled to the shoulder that warm day in spring, / Who planted seeds, musing ahead to their far blossoming).